


Your Time Will Come If You Wait For It

by tarquin



Category: Rooster Teeth Productions RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarquin/pseuds/tarquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gavin + michael + marshmallow smooches. oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Time Will Come If You Wait For It

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing left this is the end of me

It’s freezing and Gavin is camping and drunk.

Well, a lot of the staff of the Rooster Teeth office is camping and drunk. Because warm Texas Novembers are supposed to be kind to people, even if those people are technology and social media addicts who, two days into this trip, are still checking their signal-less phones on instinct for news from the outside world. Gavin included.

He stands, cold and bleary eyed with an empty beer can in hand, pretending to discuss something with Geoff and Burnie. The topic had been something…girls, maybe? But he’s long tuned them out. Mostly now he’s just watching the bonfire and, by extension, the people around it. A chill has invaded the campsite and it brings with it a nervous energy, though Gavin thinks it also has something to do with the amount of alcohol in his system and the sparks thrown up by the fire. 

The discussion going on next to him soon turns to something about something Gavin knows nothing about, and he makes due for a while by nodding along and pretending to be interested. But more and more the boy finds his eyes drawn a few yards away to the massive bonfire and those drawn in by its heat.

It’s a mystery how anyone was really talked into this trip, to be honest. And next to himself, Gavin thinks the biggest question is how Michael Jones wound up kilometers in the frozen Texas woodlands with the rest of them. 

He’s not sure what could lead the boy to leave his X-Box in his apartment so he could go shit in the woods with everyone else, but all in all, Gavin thinks better than to question it. Just having his partner in crime here is nice, someone to plunge into freezing river water with just because, or someone besides himself who doesn’t know what poison ivy looks like, and gets the same reprimand for daring the other to eat it.

And above all, and this is definitely the liquor talking, Gavin’s really glad he’s got Michael to look at.

Michael, with his auburn curls illuminated by the fire and that rapidfire laugh, isn’t a bad sight at all. He sits, jabbing a marshmallow onto a stick and then hovering it directly in the flames, catching it alight before pulling it out, still lit. All the while he chats with Ray, his motions equally as affected by alcohol as Gavin’s, a smile on his face.

Soon enough Gavin’s not even trying to look interested in what Burnie and Geoff are saying as he watches his coworker more intensely, notices how the cold is making his cheeks red and his lips redder.

 _Fuck, his lips are beautiful._ A hard truth, not easily admitted under a sober mind. But Gavin can’t shift his focus away from them, even as they open to accommodate a blackened marshmallow and then get run over and over again by a bright pink tongue.

It’s a nigh miracle that the light from the fire doesn’t reach where Gavin’s standing, because he is rooted to the spot, watching with lidded eyes, his heavy mind telling him to move closer.

And he does. A sober Ray finishes whatever he’d been saying and moves on, leaving the spot to Michael’s left alone. Gavin finds his feet are taking him forward, whether he wants them to or not. But the heat and brightness is a welcome change from the biting wind and cold, and Gavin doesn’t so much as sit as he falls on to the log beside Michael, but this inspires a laugh and a halfhearted shove.

“Sub, Grabbin?” Michael slurs, cheerful.

“Hey, Michael.” He replies, righting himself. His hands fumble towards the open bag of marshmallows to Michael’s right, but his balance wobbles and he almost crashes before Michael’s hand is on his chest, pushing him up, handing him the bag.

“Here,” he says, snickering. “Here here here. Take ‘em.”

And take ‘em Gavin does, rolling the fat white treat between his fingers before popping it into his mouth, whole. He chews silently for a moment before Michael’s narrowed eyes catch his glance. “What?” Gavin asks, mouth still half full.

“You’re not even gonna..?” Michael asks, waving his roasting stick. Gavin swallows, shrugging and reaching for it, but his depth perception is shot and when he does snag it from Michael’s teasing hand, it lands half in the fire. 

The weight of it crashing down showers the air with sparks and Gavin yelps. 

Michael keens.

“Well, maybe not.” Michael says through a laugh.

Gavin frowns as he reaches for the spit once again, but Michael is drawing his arm back, taking what’s left out of the stick out of reach. And then, like it’s natural, Gavin’s crawling on top of Michael, up him, clambering the line of his body until the weight becomes too much and they’re both falling backwards, into the thick pile of pine needles and leaves behind them. Someone on the other side of the fire barks with laughter.

Michael drops the stick. Gavin pins him down.

“No, I’m not fight- I’m not gonna wrestle you now.” Michael chokes, pushing on Gavin’s chest, knocking him easily over.  
Gavin hadn’t even been considering it before, but watching Michael try and right himself makes Gavin giddy and he pushes back, choking out a laugh.

“C’mon, Michael! Fight me!” He squeaks, grabbing at the boy’s sweater. Michael just swats him off, giggling as he tries to sit upright like before. 

Gavin makes another attempt at yanking him down but Michael is adamant.

“I’m not gonna fight you and have one of us fall into the damn bonfire, Gavin.” He snaps. “Now get your ass up here so I can make you a marshmallow.”

Gavin thinks to protest a little longer, he knows it won’t take that much to get Michael to hit him, but he eventually thinks better of it. Though the underbrush is soft under him it’s also freezing, and the pine needles nagging the hem of his shirt will him into an upright position. He brushes himself off clumsily as Michael grabs another stick and readies it, and goes on to lecture Gavin with a sophisticated, drawn out speech about the proper way to roast a marshmallow.

In short, he holds it inside the fire until it’s engulfed in flame and burnt black. Afterwards he invites Gavin to blow out the leftover flames, then waves it in the Brit’s face until he plucks it off. A second later he hisses, tossing it between two hands and painting them black with ash.

“You’ve bloody burned it!” Gavin protests as Michael waits for him to eat it with a perked eyebrow. “This isn’t even food!”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Just eat it, you pussy.”

Gavin, indignant and with the desire to prove himself not a pussy, bites it in half. At first there’s the harsh flavor of fire and coal and he makes a big show of scrunching up his face in disgust. But underneath it’s sweet, warm and liquid on his tongue. And it’s… not awful.

And Michael is watching him, smug and contempt. Gavin swallows.

The flames reflect across Michael’s glasses but Gavin can still see his eyes behind them, and he’s perilously aware that he’s staring again. He tells himself to stop, tells the goosebumps on his arms to calm the hell down, and as he pops the other half of the marshmallow into his mouth he’s hasty to look away because he’s sure the heat in his face is showing.  
“Not bad, huh?” Michael asks, and he still sounds smug and full of himself, but his voice is dry as he talks. Michael’s not looking at him either, instead busying himself with the stick in his hands, or brushing pine needles off his jacket.

“Could be worse.” Gavin replies, wanting to sound coy. His words are ruined by a smile he can’t bite back. Michael humphs triumphantly and turns away to busy himself once again.

And then Gavin’s fingers twitch, and before he can stop himself he’s reaching up to pluck a dead leaf out of Michael’s auburn tangles. The action is menial, polite, and it shouldn’t make his pulse jump as he does it. Michael turns when he feels the touch. His eyes are unfocused, darting from Gavin’s hand to the fire to his lap, everywhere but the face of the boy in front of him.

His vision swims. His skin is hot. Something is different from two seconds ago.

Everything feels weighted now, from their words to the way Gavin’s fingers slip through Michael’s hair to let the leaf get taken back by the wind. The world is spinning and Gavin can feel his heartbeat in every corner of his body, and everything gets so fast when Michel leans in and crashes into his mouth.

And he tastes sweet, like syrup and burned sugar and a little bit of fear. In the span of seconds Gavin’s mind first goes erratic, then blank. He’s scared and excited and wanting, and he leans in slowly.

He waits for Michael to pull back. Or go stiff or gag or be as afraid as he is, but all that happens is Gavin tilts his head so his nose doesn’t get in the way, and Michael’s jaw goes slack as his lips part more, and Gavin thinks Michael is smiling.

And the wind bites at them, stinging exposed ears and the tips of fingers but they battle it by letting their bodies grow closer, by Gavin taking Michael’s hands because it feels right and rubbing circles on his palms with his thumb. The best way they fight the cold though, is in the moment they pull back. With mouths open and clouds of breath stolen by the wind, the red in their cheeks grows redder and they eyes get wide and what’s happened between them sinks in deep.

Gavin smiles, choking down a little laugh while Michael ducks his head completely, righting his glasses and staring at the ground, but shaking shoulders betray his laughter.

Words don’t come as fast as Gavin wants them to. He feels hot and embarrassed and half of him thinks he should apologize, but it was _Michael_ who kissed _him._

Michael stops watching the bonfire for a fraction of a second and their eyes meet, and fuck all if Gavin can’t stop grinning and Michael’s following his lead. It’s then that he opens his mouth to say something, and there’s a thin cough from the other end of the clearing.

And then, far too late, Gavin remembers he’s not alone with this boy, but rather that he’s in the company of several coworkers, all of which have just watched him lick his way into a fellow coworker’s mouth and smile into the warmth of his lips.

Six, seven pairs of eyes surround them with similar raised eyebrows and opened mouths. Some people are shocked, some amused. Most are just watching, questions plain on their faces.

_What?_

Michael’s noticing he’s under scrutiny too now, and all too fast Gavin can see his shoulders start to raise and hear the breath he sucks in to say something he’ll regret when he’s sober.

What a perfect opportunity to turn in for the night, Gavin decides.

Springing on Michael before he can get “Okay, let’s-” out of his mouth, Gavin catches the side of his face and turns it so he’s placing a warm, playful kiss on his cheek. Michael chokes on his own words and turns to watch as Gavin lurches upward onto two wobbly legs.

“I’m goin’ t’bed.” He says, though he’s not sure if his tongue is this heavy because of the beer or because it misses the weight of Michael’s. Probably the former, he thinks as he takes one, two, three steps forward. But it was a nice thought.

Five steps in and Geoff and Barbara catch him before he faceplants into the ground. Both of them are on the “I fucking knew it,” end of the reaction spectrum and not bothering to ask questions. He can feel them staring though. Eyebrows everywhere are raised. The world’s still spinning faster than usual.

“So, which one’s tent’s mine’s?” He asks, playing it off like he doesn’t want to turn around to make sure Michael took the hint and is getting the hell out of there. He fails though, before Barbara can even answer him, lolling his head backwards. Sure enough, Michael is fumbling with the zipper of a pale blue tent yards away.

Good, he decides. Right. For now.

With two extra pairs of legs they make it to Gavin’s tent. Not before someone asks if he’d rather share a tent with Michael, and Gavin swings them a sober glare. Well, it tries to be a sober glare, but his cheeks are red and everyone around him is snickering- so he is as well.

“Nah.” He says, still proud of the ghost of Michael’s lips on his. “Distance makes…” He thumps his hand against his chest, “the heart fonder.”

From the other end of the campsite he thinks he hears Michael’s barking laugh.

Eventually Gavin somehow manages to end up inside a sleeping bag without taking anyone’s eye out. Geoff hops out a few seconds after Gavin’s heavy head lands on a pillow and his eyes shut, but Barbara stays long enough to brush hair away from his eyes and laughingly tell him that tomorrow’s gonna be one hell of a morning.

He knows she’s right. But tomorrow is a million years away right now, and Michael kissed him beside a bonfire and he tasted like marshmallows, and things could be a lot worse.


End file.
